Shinjitsu
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: It all began when Kouichi disappeared.  Then suddenly, their reality was warped beyond recognition. Desperately trying to save the future by uncovering the truth of their pasts in the midst of lies, they find the darkness in them and what it's caused…
1. Prologue

**Author's Notes**

I was in a really bad mood and took it out on this fic which was just floating around in my head, which is why it came out the way it did. That is also (mostly) the reason why it is rated M. Description, psychological (and physical) torture, the likes...you'll find out when you see it.

And remember, this is just the prologue. So if you don't get it, you're going to be just as lost as a certain character when I post up the first chapter.

BTW, title means truth, or believe. Either works in context.

I would have gotten this up way sooner, but the server was down. A first for me.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own digimon. Simple.

Anyway, read and enjoy and tell me what you think.

* * *

**Shinjitsu**

It all began when Kouichi disappeared. Then suddenly, their reality was warped beyond recognition. Desperately trying to save the future by uncovering the truth of their pasts in the midst of lies, they find the darkness in them and what it's caused…

Kouji M/Koji & Kouichi K/Koichi

Rating: M

Genre/s: Friendship/Angst

* * *

**Prologue**

It seemed more a dream than a reality. But it had to be real, because he, or rather it, existed. It was not human, nor any other species known to humankind, though it occasionally took on a human form when it suited its own needs. And at that point, it did. After all, it would otherwise be rather difficult for it to carry on a conversation with a part of itself, much less administer some rather...unorthodox means to the stubborn part in question.

It emerged from rejection of itself, as had the plane upon which it dwelled. Few humans ever saw it, and fewer still remembered it. Such ignorance and the fragmented memories from little remembrance warped from their prejudice and innate fear of the part of them they themselves refused to acknowledge and consequently denied the existence of in the outer phenomenological field covering their innate self resulted in a definite split between the two personalities. The psychic split under normal circumstances resulted in a functional personality psychically distinct to that which they rejected. On the physical plane which many, if not most, humans defined to be reality, the disdained psyche was suppressed in the darkest recedes of the human mind wherein it, unless in dire circumstance, remained apart from the apparent whole.

On the spiritual plane however, this rejected psyche was able to manifest its essence; to what degree depended on the extent and parameters of the split. Said essence was retained through the process of death and rebirth on the physical plane and amassed itself over the course of time.

For the most part, it simply existed as a force, its consciousness and will developed over the long course of rejection. But the rare instance arouse in which the paradoxical nature of the rejection resulted in the rejected psyche sustaining a form on the physical plane, being maintained by the spiritual energy that stemmed from the hopes and dreams of he who it had originated from. Over time, the disdained psyche developed an essential uniqueness to its origin, and it was only at the point where the rejected psyche itself becomes conflicted, that a channel connecting the two planes opened.

It was a rare occurrence, and one made even more difficult to exploit as the channel only opened five years after the initial conflict, lasting for only an hour on the physical plane. Time ran differently on the spiritual plane; the opportunity would disappear in a split second, and it was a matter of extreme precision to establish a temporary connection which was greatly prolonged by the mere presence of the spirit and then made permanent as the connection forced the channel to reopen after twenty hours on the physical plane had passed.

The nature of that connection was however unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the perspective, far more complex.

It sighed, a bit contently, as the cool sea water lapped at its bare feet, a trait one of the rejected psyches had retained. It had taken on the form of a human male with noticeable Japanese heritage, about forty years old, with dark hair and dark eyes. To the outside observer, it, or he, was no-one special. But then, no outside observer would see. After all, the psychic plane, the subsection of the spiritual plane in which a soul could be drawn into during the dreaming phase, only existed as a reality for those directly experiencing it. Like a dream, it differed from person to person. It was one of the few places in which one could maintain a presence in both planes.

The form was, however, rather special to the one to whom it mattered. The brown eyes looked up at the captive psyche chained in an eagle fashion to the cliff which rose out from the water. It spread across the shoreline, and the walls were smoothed and worn away with time. Smaller rock fragments littered the shallower water, sharp and sturdy, enough to tear through any human skin. The cliff itself was three metres tall, the captive chained tightly enough so that only his (for simplicity's sake assuming the figure to be human, though there was a rather large possibility that he was part of the whole, thus in technical terms should be called it as opposed to him) facial features were allowed any visible movement, and low enough so that the high tide brushed against the soles of his feet.

His form was slightly transparent, enough so that the worn surface of the graphite behind him gave him a rather grey-scale appearance, illuminated slightly by the gold and purple light his aura emitted. He lifted his eyes as the other stepped near, its steps making small ripples in the water, itself barely illuminated by the same pale blue the water reflected.

On the purely spiritual level, no barriers existed. As it stood, only one barrier existed between them: the temporary channel construct. Upon the spiritual level, no physical barriers existed; even the darkest recedes of the human mind that one pressed dormant and effectively rejected were laid out in the open. The human physical concept of humility was non-existent; there was no privacy in a world where all was laid bare. As such, clothing was not carried nor mirrored across astral projection, ie. in the event that the body remained on one plane while it's spirit was projected elsewhere. Which meant that the two figures, on the physical level of the psychic plane, saw the other in totality, without unfitting garment to hide them. Or rather, it saw him; he lacked the knowledge, or rather memories, to understand its nature.

It, in the guise of the older make, put a solid hand on each of the boy's cheeks, index fingers reaching up to force the other's eyes open. Hazy eyes starred blurrily back ,recognising it as the form it took rather than the form it was, even as the pale, naked form trembled indiscreetly from both cold and the instant (though correct) assumption of fear as he took in his immobility.

Even of the psychic plane, aspects of the physical plane existed. The forces of nature was one example; wind, water and rock formations were all plentiful to name a few examples. Pain was another, though wounds inflicted on the physic plane were not sustained by the physical body.

And then, there were some things which were carried over, mainly the spirit which projected itself, or else was projected elsewise. Others were mirrored; memories, appearance...though the degree of transparency depended upon the nature of the established connection.

As the memories were mirrored, the captive had, naturally, maintained those of his human life, or rather, the life he believed to be his human life. Thus, he remembered the form before him as one who he recognised on the physical plane.

'_Otou-san_...' the boy breathed, only to cry out as manicured fingernails dug into his skin.

'No,' the other hissed, a definite taste of sadism in his voice; understandably, as it was something that many pressed dormant. 'I'm not your father, human.' Then it added, as the boy's eyes widened in confusion and increasing fear: 'But then you're not human either. Are you?' This was said in a tone which demonstrated its certainty.

He opened his mouth to answer, only for the other's hand to come down and stop the action.

'I know what you're going to say,' it whispered, hovering in front of the other so they were on the same level, in close enough proximity to make the captive's cheeks burn with shame. 'And I've heard it said before.'

It leaned in so that the nose of the guise it took and that of the chained boy touched. 'But know this. You will learn in time the truth and accept it; after all, you are only a shadow...but for now, I want to know the capability of your physical form. Such knowledge will undoubtedly prove rather useful as my plan finally comes into fruition.'

Before the boy could register the implications of that statement, the other removed its hand, it going, with its pair, to the boy's temples instead.

For a moment, he could feel the physical pressure on his skull, till the feeling was lost as excruciating pain shot through every nerve in his system. The screams exploded from him, echoing in the empty space that stretched before him, even as his vision faded into blackness; his eyes, though open, becoming senseless, even as time, unmeasurable, passed. For those who studied psychology, it was a well known fact that the lack of a sensory vision contributed to a deficiency in regards to the remaining ones, not to mention the after-effects it had on normal cognitive processes following re-exposure.

And then, after what he felt an eternity had passed, he heard his own cries of pain dim. By then, he had lost the presence of mind to realise, or perhaps remember the source of the screams; to him, they had become simply a part of the surroundings. Even the stiffness of his joints, hung for hours on end without release, had been lost as distinct boundaries blurred, his body flicking in and out of focus like static on a television screen, only as real as one believed.

Distantly, he heard the sound of glass shattering, before all faded into the blissful oblivion as the threads tying the trapped soul, or psyche should one take the allegation of the other to be correct, to the physical plane pulled him, or it, back to what it perceived, or had, to be his own reality, the astral projection shimmering and fading as though a reflection or a mirror image, though visibly struggling as though one forced back beyond the barriers which separated the two mostly distinct planes.

In all reality, that was not far at all from the truth. Thus, it was in all inevitable that the same would soon happen to him too.

Then, the entire plane disappeared like the dream it was, the connection, for the next twenty four hours at least, effectively cut, nullifying all, save the repercussions which had stemmed.

Twenty four hours till the connection was reforged. Then from there...no-one could really tell.

After all, when the boundaries between truth and falsehood become blurred to such an extent where it is impossible to distinguish one from another, especially when perception, logic, reasoning and emotion fail, a belief which falters with each wind becomes the steady hand that leads the way.

And when that guide wavers, as does the will of the one bound to it.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**

Sorry for such a late update. I started writing this chapter, but it was coming along rather slow, and just when I had a good grip...I lost it. Just like with a few other stories. Then I couldn't remember my plan, but I managed to stumble upon it a month or two ago, so now I'm vaguely back on track. I say vaguely, because the plan ends with the beginning of the next chapter, so I still need to work on that part.

When I started this, I really didn't think it was going to be so hard to write. But there you go. Nothing's ever predictable, is it? Says the hard core science girl with a dish of fanfics to the side. *Rolls eyes* Sarcasm duly noted.

The festival referred to in the second segment is similar to the one in the sailor moon series. I've forgotten which episode it was, but it had to do with how well you knew your partner.

And yes, the beginning does link to the end for a reason.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Shinjitsu**

It all began when Kouichi disappeared. Then suddenly, their reality was warped beyond recognition. Desperately trying to save the future by uncovering the truth of their pasts in the midst of lies, they find the darkness in them and what it's caused…

Kouji M/Koji & Kouichi K/Koichi

Rating: M

Genre/s: Friendship/Angst

* * *

_There is a fine line between dreams and reality, it's up to you to draw it." ~ _

* * *

**Chapter 1**

There was a rather coppery taste on his lips. Blood, he realised belatedly, almost blurrily as his mind recognised the savage headache afflicting him. How he had slept through that, he didn't know...but he found as he tried to drag himself out of bed that he could not even muster the strength nor the full awareness to lift even a fingertip to help himself.

Nor could he groan, though he would have loved to. He thought thereafter that he would have, if his throat didn't feel like it had been scratched raw. It wasn't a pleasant feeling to be sure, but he thought he could deal with that it hadn't been for the rest of him.

Not that he could really think at that moment. He simply didn't have the energy.

But someone, or something, was being rather insistent.

Something cool suddenly dribbled down his throat, softly, gently, withdrawing far before he could choke but returning soon enough to continue and soothe. Then something else joined in, something powdery and dissolved and not quite as appetizing as water was, but no doubt just as beneficial.

And finally, he opened his eyes to find himself staring tiredly as his brother and stepmother, the latter with a cup half full in one hand and jug in the other and the former simply standing there anxiously.

'What happened?' Kouji asked him urgently, before their stepmother shushed him.

He blinked lethargically as Satomi put the glass on the table and stroked his hair. 'You smashed the frame on the bedside table and cut up your hand. And-' He suddenly realised her face was paler than usual. 'You were screaming, and thrashing. For awhile. And then...you just stopped. And lay there.'

He had? Why though? He didn't remember any nightmares, or anything really past going to bed last night; it had been last night...right? He thought it was, but honestly, he wasn't thinking at the time much at all; his head was simply too full of fog. Anything that came to mind, did so later. Much later.

She stroked his hair some more, before withdrawing. 'Get some more rest Kouichi-kun.'

He was too tired to do anything else save obey.

And Kouji beside them was becoming even more antsy.

* * *

The younger twin had turned his advanced physics homework into a pile of scribbled mess which was in no way productive by the time Kouichi came downstairs.

'What happened?' he demanded again and almost immediately, not unkindly and with certain good visible intent, though if he had been talking to anyone other than the brother who knows him so well, it would have come off as rather rude.

The elder twin shrugged, moving the illegible jargon to sate a seat next to him. 'I honestly have no idea.'

Kouji frowned, but realised that it was the truth. 'How can you not?' he asked, almost rhetorically. 'Night terror?'

Kouichi half smiled. 'I would know...how?'

'Of course you'd say that,' the other sighed. 'Why'd I bother asking?'

'Rhetorical?' the elder twin shrugged, before his grin widened. 'It would make any conversations between us rather pointless if we didn't say something.'

'Despite the fact that it is utterly redundant.' Kouji smirked, in the way he would only for his brother. 'It's not surprising.'

'No, it isn't,' Kouichi agreed. Something nagged at the edge of his subconsciousness, but he ignored it. If his memory of the previous night wasn't tightly bonded on a slowly unwinding loop, he would most certainly not have done so. Hours ago, he would not have even felt the little prick; hours later, it would be with the force of a sledgehammer ramming into his skull.

'Aren't you going to eat a breakfast...or brunch?' Kouij asked, adding the last part upon noting the time. Well after noon, almost the time they would regularly eat lunch together. 'We'll be late.'

Kouichi looked at the shrugged, and the other could almost see him shrugging nonchalantly at the idea of two meals so close together.

And he did exactly that. 'We'll be eating in less than an hour anyway,' he pointed out, though they were both well aware of the fact.

'So, what are you going to do them?' the younger half teased. 'Curl up with a book till it's time to go?'

'Is there ever a time when you'll guess wrong and _not_ be sarcastic?' the other replied, gesturing at the paperback resting on the table beside the couch they were both lounging on.

'When you do?'

'I'm not the one with the standing record.'

'Hence the question mark. But I have guessed wrong a few times. More in the last few years.'

'True. Remember out thirteenth birthday though. That festival?'

'Of course. We won hands down. Perfect intuition. It felt like we were almost one.'

Almost one..?

'Yeah...'

* * *

The sun was shining rather brightly once the twins crossed through the park together to their group's acclaimed spot under the only Sakura tree. The others, save Takuya, were already there, waiting calmly for the remaining members of their six-member team to arrive.

'You look tired,' Junpei commented, staring pointedly at the younger twin who made it a point himself to stare back, before being predictably elbowed in the side by his brother in silent reprimand.

'Long story,' the addressed muttered when Izumi and Tomoki stared as well, before looking at the older twin for a more satisfactory answer.

Kouichi, for his part, had an inkling, though he had no way of knowing for sure (asking aside). So he just smiled slowly and shook his head.

The fifteen year old sighed, before leaning back against the tree, perking up a moment later when noticing the twins' far-away shadow catching up. 'Oh, there's Takuya.'

Kouji wasn't surprised, nor was he surprised that his brother was. That innocent naivety was something to be adored, even when nearing adulthood and the barrier in which all traces of purity in its societal sense faded into 'modernism' and the inorganic future that came with life from the twentieth century and the plague that which had followed even into the twenty-first, where mankind had evidently not learnt from the outlook of its pessimistic end.

'Gomen,' the brunette cheerfully sang, plopping ungracefully next to Kouji as though the Digital World had not managed to help him realise the importance of the simple art of grace, though the teenager next to which he sat sprouted another scowl, this one not half as teasing as the earlier. 'Shinya held me up. Man...' He looked at the twins here with envy well disguised in boisterous bubbles inflamed more than the colder wolf would like. 'You guys are so lucky you don't fight like us.'

'Sure,' Kouichi, from beside Junpei, replied a little sarcastically, uncharacteristic save that the comment had unintentionally struck a nerve in both brothers. 'The two of us almost killing each other is nowhere near as bad as your immature squabbles.'

'Once in a lifetime occurrence,' the blonde pointed out, a little irritated from both the pettish brotherly relationship between the two Kanbara's and the elder twin's standing guilt over an incident that was dead and buried. 'Takuya's always fighting with his brother.'

'Like it's my fault.'

'You _are_ supposed to be the elder brother,' Junpei interrupted, seeing as Izumi was going to shoot an answer that was far more biting. 'Between you and Yutaka, all extremes of brotherhood must be covered.' He looked at the twins. 'You two aren't even on the scale. You might as well be extensions of each other.'

They looked at each other, before Kouji scoffed at the absurdity but didn't comment (others had mentioned that particular statement in various forms a multitude of times), but Kouichi bit his lip slightly worriedly. Something was nagging him, pricking the back of his mind, but he simply couldn't fathom what.

'Is something wrong?'

'I don't know. Something's bothering me.'

'And you don't know what it is.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Hey, could you translate that to Japanese so the rest of us can follow?' Takuya interrupted the twin conversation.

Both shook their head.

'Of course that would make perfect sense to you.' The brunette face palmed his head, before turning to the wick basket Izumi had brought. 'Come on, lunch time is well past.'

'You didn't ask,' the pseudo-Italian grinned, uncovering the contents.

One could practically see Takuya's mouth watering.

* * *

They all left their separate ways about six, where the sun was just beginning to set on the autumn night. The twins, despite their different destinations, walked together till the point at which they would separate: a tradition they had habitually developed along with their marathon calls. They only saw each other once a month in good circumstances, sometimes less due to the other duties of life, whether that be school, social commitments, their birthmother's health or simply weather as winter storms and summer heat waves tended to halt face to face meetings.

Both twins were quiet by nature, except with each other where speech in most cases was no chore. But both were still unusually quiet as they weaved their way slowly through Shibuya's crowded streets. Kouji, trailing a foot or so behind his brother, sometimes obscured by a person or several as they passed, found something quite worrisome about his brother's well being. Perhaps the drama that morning had him walking on pins and needles, which Kouichi, Tomoki and Takuya had berated him for on four different occasions, but he got the feeling that something had changed.

More like something that had always been there was starting to show itself, to be honest.

He looked at his brother's hat again, basically the only identifiable object in the sea of nameless personnel that quickly thinned as they passed the main crowd. It was almost...strange, how they'd met. The probability, the occurrence itself, years of wishing for a real mother that was alive and a brother who knew him beyond his facade and who he could look to in any tundra. And then it suddenly occurred, almost surreally, like a dream come true. But it was more than that, as while their initial meeting was less than ideal, it brought out all the things that mattered most, an explanation for an otherwise unbelievable gift, and all the things he had locked away in his own personality and essentially rejected sprout and prosper entirely separate two himself.

Twins. Brothers. Yin and Yang. Essentially similar and yet completely opposite. Fitting almost every stereotype there was about twins in general (except the one about being left-handed, both were right), there was something paranormal about the year or so after they had met for the first time.

Once the world realigned, things changed into a more complacent, normal atmosphere. And it suited them both fine. For all their differences, there were similarities. There were things that in no way related, others which had been entirely engraved as two flip-sides, and there were two separate lives intertwining like two regions of a Venn diagram.

Perfectly ordinary, perfectly content as far as modern life went, so what the hell was the problem _now._

And the silence was really getting to him. As little as he tended to talk, quietness always seemed to do that. Even before he met the others, even before that void was filled with chatter.

'Kouichi,' he called, a little louder than he had to, but achieving the desired response all the same.

The elder twin turned immediately at the sudden call, rather idiotically seeing as he had been crossing the road at the time. He had an odd habit of turning left when he would twist around to look or converse with something or someone behind him. At the time bad, because there was a car speeding to his right.

Which only one of the twins was actually able to see. The wrong one.

'Move!' he shouted, panic suddenly seizing him, as Kouichi twisted the other way. Reflex tends to do that, looking at the source of terror rather than fleeing blindly and trusting another's instinct, but one must as well know where safety lied, and in that case, where danger was.

The car's headlights must have been faulty, because the dim sun reflecting off the glass was the only light he had to see. The effect was almost surreal, movie-like, as the dim reflection washed over him and the car screeched-

Kouji shut his eyes on instinct; for all his front, facing a near death experience disallowed such repetition in haste, one lessons both twins were taught the hard way. He could see the blood splatter, the broken bones, the glazed eyelids seeking someone, something, the cracked window screen and the horrified eyes behind it, covered in red, black and yellow, guilt, shame, blame-

He reopened them a moment later, finding the car continuing along merrily as though there had never been an obstacle in his path. And Kouichi was vanishing round a corner, deep in thought.

A splitting point. The road was getting busy again. He wouldn't be able to catch up.

So he just went home.

* * *

That night, he found he simply could not get to sleep. He used to do that when he was younger, lying for hours on end on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, imagining a private life with someone who he could share with no matter what.

Somehow, it would keep going back to that. So he would just lie on his bed, stare up at the ceiling, and imagine how life would have been if he had never met Kouichi. If they had never gone to the Digital World.

Wishes have power it is said. His other one came true. Physically speaking, both couldn't simultaneously occur...but the real life didn't entirely abide by the rules of physics, did it? After all, physics defined a perfect world. This one was by far imperfect.

He sighed, gave up, and slipped out from under the loose covers. There was no getting to sleep, and he knew his brother wouldn't be asleep yet. He tended to nap during the day, then go to bed about two or three in the morning, doing things people normally did in the afternoon or evening while others (like him) slept at eleven.

It was half an hour to midnight now.

He might as well pay a visit. His parents won't mind; father and stepmother that is. He doubted his birthmother was even in the apartment she shared with her eldest son at the present time. The nightshifts she was forced to work often saw to lonely dark hours passing.

Perhaps there would be a change here, he thought.

There would be, but fate had a rather cruel sense of humour.

And lessons existed to be taught after all.

* * *

The third alarm bell rang in his mind when the apartment door opened with ease under the smooth twist. From a slight sliver, it sprang open with the force of a dozen springs, slamming into the wall and rebounding...but not before the opener slid through.

'Ni-san?' he called, slightly hesitantly, slightly afraid, but nothing seemed out of place; nothing disturbed. 'Kouichi? Why is your door open?'

Silence. As darkness embraced. Personified thereof, thus too it was presented here.

'Kouichi?'

He peeked through the open doorways, before finding his brother in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He moved not at all as the younger twin's image joined him.

'Am I real?' he asked quietly, almost suddenly to the outside observer, but he himself could see someone, an older male, inhuman, reaching out to him as an extension of himself.

Kouji got the feeling his brother wasn't talking to him, seeing as he hadn't moved at all to acknowledge his presence, and instead seemed to be talking to his reflection. Part of him wondered whether he should be questioning his sanity at that moment; the other shrugged it off as lack of sleep, or else practice for some philosophy oral. Why Kouichi took that subject was beyond him though; utter rubbish in his opinion. He preferred more fundamental aspects of knowledge: science, mathematics. Philosophy was on the other end of the spectrum.

And just as he was starting to become comfortable with the idea, he found his brother's eyes. Their reflection to be exact, but that itself mirrored reality, did it not? There was no illusion there; wherever his brother's mind was, it wasn't with him. Not then. Not there. Not in the sense that someone's mind wondered in a daydream, but more like how it had literally to the Digital World, then to death's door and back.

And now...

He hurriedly caught his brother as he felt back, the limp, doll-like form collapsing into his hold like the space had been specially made for him. From that new position, he didn't move again, eyes vacant but still staring at a reflection.

One that only showed one person standing, and holding nothing in that hold.

_Am I real? Am I?_

The question vibrated in the silent air, calling him, begging for an answer.

The answer should have been obvious.

_Yes! Yes, of course you are!_

And yet...something had stopped his voice.

_On the day where the voices save of truth are stopped..._

...where the truth set free. Or imprisoned.

Twenty four hours were up. In the distance, the clock struck twelve. One boy was left alone with his thoughts and fading as vision too followed the same path.

He clutched someone close as consciousness fled. Someone...who had never existed.

Somewhere in the distance, glass shattered. Final threads were cut. A hand descended, reaching out, caressing gently, ticking in a grim satisfaction turning towards amusement as reality shaped and warped itself to the new circumstances.

And then the entire plane disappeared like the illusion it was, the connection cut. The fragments collected temporarily, where belief is what remains to bind them.

And belief is all that can bring reality back.

But what is reality in the end? But an illusion itself?

* * *

'Kouji! Kouji! Wake up!'

Someone shook him frantically, calling his name in a teary voice. That was the second thing he registered; the first was a wave of dizziness and essential mental fogginess that one associated not with simple sleep.

'Wake up!'

He complied, staring blurrily up at his stepmother's tearstained face before the blue eyes lazily drifted to his father's own, slightly moist themselves, but glaring with an intensity that could only ever be extreme worry disguised as anger.

But he said nothing as the other tried to gain his bearings and gain some sense in a fogged mind, shifting his right arm a little, before hissing involuntarily in pain and looking at the source.

Bandages held themselves, before falling away, revealing the tell-tale ugly slashes and pricks of shattered glass.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**

Sorta winging it for the time being. I hate doing that. Anyway…

You know, this is kinda random but I never realised how weird my name was. In English, it's Juliet. In Greek, it's Akiza. And in Japanese, funnily enough, it's actually Izumi, and some people resort to calling me Z as a shortcut to the complexity of it all. So Ive got Izumi's real name in Japanese and her English dub nickname. Not to mention her French name.

On a more important note, Lucifer translates to "Morning Star" or "Star of the Morning". It is used to refer to the dawn appearance of the planet Venus, and Venus is also said to be the Roman Goddess of Love. The quote towards the end from the mouthpiece is a part of a Christian hymn. It's latin translation is "light-bearer". The term "Morning Star" is also used as a reference to Jesus, and as a central figure in Christianity, he is seen as somewhat of a Messiah. Ignoring the religious connotations, it seemed somewhat fitting with the current chaos in my head.

Enjoy.

* * *

**Shinjitsu**

It all began when Kouichi disappeared. Then suddenly, their reality was warped beyond recognition. Desperately trying to save the future by uncovering the truth of their pasts in the midst of lies, they find the darkness in them and what it's caused…

Kouji M/Koji & Kouichi K/Koichi

Rating: M

Genre/s: Friendship/Angst

* * *

_Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it. ~ Harry Emerson Fosdick_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

He sat alone, just staring out the window. There really wasn't that much to look at, but he looked at it all the same. It wasn't like there was anything better to do. Not here.

Someone came in, but he ignored them. Since he had left his bed that morning he sat in the wooden chair, the window shades just barely tweaked back to let only the barest light through. The room remained clouded in grey; he left it like that. The light switch was on the other side of the room, but it didn't matter anyway. He didn't want it on. What use did he have for it? He wasn't going to touch the papers sitting on the otherwise barren desk.

The room was clean. Unnaturally so. He was sure he hadn't cleaned it. He couldn't remember being bothered to do so. He couldn't remember _ever_ doing so. But it was always clean. Someone cleaned it. Probably while he slept.

He didn't like that. But no-one would listen to him.

'What are you doing?'

It was his father, but he ignored him. Not for long. It would never last long. He didn't really care either way. It wasn't like there was any love between the two, despite how they were tied by blood. To the latter he was a burden who would never carry the title of heir. To the former he was a brick that had solidified the bitter wall in his heart.

There was a sarcastic: 'Well, you're certainly doing a good job wasting your life.' A pause. 'Just because you've been excused from school today.' Of course, _he_ wasn't the one who had gotten him that brief reprieve. It was his stepmother, though he never thank _her_ for it. She was as much to blame as him. Most of him could honestly say he hated them both. It was because of them that his mother was dead. Because of them that he had to carry that heavy weight in his heart that grey heavier by the day.

His eyes screamed at the dryness but no tears came. He had spent them all.

It was their fault. Because he loved her. Because she loved him. And it was partly his own fault as well. The extra load she had to manage.

He could barely feel the soft and warm embrace around him, could barely hear the sweet and gentle voice singing softly in his ear or asking him about his day. Someone who carefully cut his sandwiches into little bite sized squares and made soup for his lunch whenever he lost his tooth and treated him to strawberry shortcake once a week, knowing it was his favourite. His father barely knew him; he was too busy with his business and his associates. He wasn't the perfect son. He didn't like company in general.

No-one knew him well. And no-one cared enough for that.

'For once in your life, would you give your assignments in when it's due?' his father half-growled, before softer footsteps on the stairs interrupted them both.

'Lunch is ready,' Satomi said quietly.

Kousei growled in annoyance before turning his back to his son and walking away.

The blue eyes that looked nothing like those brown ignored him utterly, still staring down on the dim street, the curtain's fabric clasped in a single hand.

'You know your father loves you,' she said, coming a few steps closer but keeping her distance all the same.

He turned his head in utter defiance, eyes noting the polished neighbourhood. How he hated that place. Often he wished he could just leave…but where would he go? That alone brought him back day after day. One day, even that wouldn't be enough.

'It hurts him when you get into trouble,' she continued, somewhat reprimanding. 'It hurts him when he watches you throw away your life for nothing. Isn't there anything you enjoy doing?'

'No,' the other said coldly, suddenly standing and letting the curtain fall back. It swayed from the force before settling, veiling the outside wall from the inhabitants of the room.

'Kouji…'

He walked past her, towards the stairs.

'Don't get into trouble again,' she pleaded.

He ignored her.

* * *

It had been years since he had last jerked from a dream that he remembered nothing of except pain and anguish. It felt sometimes, during the small moments that hovered between his waking and sleeping states, that he was reaching to a part of his heart he had long sealed away, but all that had ended when the frame that had held his mother's portrait, his last memories of her, had shattered into hundreds of pieces, utterly ruining the last image.

He slipped the glove off as he walked, flexing his fingers loosened from the slight restraint before looking at those scars made permanent. Once, they had been dripping with blood from the accident that had destroyed his life. Then, the very same lines re-carved when the last remnants of it had been the result when his own nightmare had vanquished the last pieces of his heart and the image he had clung to. That had shattered his last resolve; the flowers he had so carefully wrapped in his closet remained there, drying, decaying…they were still there, as far as he knew. He couldn't face digging them up again.

Those scars would never fade now. Something about them had meant they were engraved there forever, a mark of anger, betrayal and bitterness…and above all, emptiness. After all, the final cursive had been carved by his own other hand. How ironic that it had been the left one, the bringer of evil to deface that which was supposed to represent good.

Or so those monasteries wandering the street and spreading good will told him. He didn't bother arguing with them unless they pushed far enough. He didn't believe that anyway. If there was good and evil, there was someone or something governing that. Something humans like them called a God. And they didn't deserve respect if the only reason for them creating the world and everything in it was to watch the suffering thereof to play out like a movie, offering no guidance. They claim the Prophets and Messengers came with a message; he didn't see the message. He didn't see their benevolent wisdom. He didn't even see the people of faith following, so how could he, a faithless, do so?

There was no love in such a world except foolishness and betrayal, and time and time again he wondered why he still bothered living, a hostage to those rules. Ultimately, it came down to himself. As a human, he was held hostage to the same things that drove all humans. The search for truth, the unwillingness to accept the end of the quest in all the drowning sea he had floundered in for years, and above all else, fear of the unknown. Fear of death. Fear of not knowing what was there, what one was losing, and what came next. Fear of wasting the one and only chance they would ever get.

The rest of him said it was foolish, but he still kept little things. Things that _mattered_ under a world of ice so firm that not even a sledgehammer would break through it. He was a bit of a legend amongst the streets, held in awe by some, in fear by others. But they knew now not to approach him; he wasn't the type of person who was approachable. The small glass shards that once made up that picture frame had been dumped into a box and tossed on top of the rotting flowers. The receipt was still somewhere in those fragile stems. So was the ruined photo. They were all in the reattachable base. It seemed somewhat ironic that the closet had two bottoms, and what remained was trapped between them. But that was how he had left it for years. There was probably nothing left of the flowers now. The glass and paper was more enduring, but who knew what the darkness had done to the latter.

Someone hailed him, and though he recognised the voice well, he ignored him.

The thundering footsteps caught him anyway.

'Yo, Minamoto, where are you wandering off to?'

'Nowhere,' the other snapped, shrugging the hand off his shoulder and walking forward.

'You always say that,' the other laughed, a little humorously. 'Did you think about my offer?'

Of course he had. Just the way he thought about everything nowadays. Forget everything else; if there was something to be gained…

He came closer, latching onto the scarred arm

'The world nowadays is governed by one of two things,' he said softly, into his ear, before the other yanked his arm out of the other's grip again. 'Money, and-'

'-love,' the other all but spat. 'If you don't have anything new to say Kakuzawa, then don't say anything.'

'Harsh,' the other laughed, well used to the various attitudes that littered the streets. He, himself, preferred to get as many kicks out of a shortened life as possible. After all, living on the wild road would only last so long.

He pulled a packet out of his black jacket, flipping it open with one smooth motion and withdrawing a white wrapped cigarette from its confines. 'Want one?'

His face twisted slightly in disgust, but he accepted the stick, allowing the other to light it for him before inhaling the almost tasteless smoke. For a while, when he had first accepted it in a rush of defiance against the expectations of his father, when he had decided to bitterly and utterly rebel against that parental authority after the final blow, it had tasted bitter. His mind had spun, as if in the grasp of a sudden euphoria; it felt like his heart had jumped into his mouth, and that same bitter taste that he attributed to that pulsating organ.

Of course, once you stepped onto a slide, it was exceedingly difficult to get off. Not that it really mattered to him. Cancer or no, he would die one day, unaccomplished. They all would.

'Hmmph, not even a thank you. Kakuzawa snorted, taking a deep breath and inhaling the now familiar, almost tasteless scent. 'So…'

He let his eyes slip shut, before shrugging almost carelessly.

'Is that a yes?' He sounded a little concerned, but not overly so. Everyone knew what they got themselves into.

The other opened his mouth to state the obvious, but something stopped him. It was true that there wasn't much regard left in him for the value of human lives; it seemed like an endless sprawl and whoever targeted had no doubt done something to deserve the ultimate punishment. That had angered him at one stage; innocent people suffered while the guilty wondered free, but that was before he finally learnt the harsh cold truth: no-one, not even a baby that dies without ever being conceived, was truly innocent, for all the pain it brings to its parents. Perhaps at that stage not even gender is distinguishable. And to think they, in some circles of belief, wander up to heaven while leaving the suffering earth below.

He couldn't help but remember that had been a time when he had _cared_. When was the last time he had cried, or felt anything above neutrality in the face of another person or thing? Ookami, the German Sheppard that had been his only companion for years, had eventually had to be put down, and that had been the end of it all. His father yanking the chain from his grip; those marks had faded from his hand. And unlike the scars from glass, sharp, shattering…he couldn't make a chain's grip come back exactly the way it was. Now he lay rotting under a mound of dirt…or what remained. Anything useful had been torn from the body soon after the deed had been done. Like an animal for slaughter. That was all he was. That was all they all were.

He opened his eyes again, narrowed. Cold. Yes, that was all they were. Pigs for slaughter, for the amusement for the one who had created and cursed them to this very existence.

All one could do was find a way to exist. If it meant sacrificing someone else, someone who didn't matter much like him…well, it came down to human instincts in the end, didn't it?

'That's a yes,' he muttered, turning his face.

Above them, a crow squawked.

The more easy going of the two, in so far as one would go to call him the foil but they would be utterly wrong, looked at the other's cold set face before shrugging. 'It's your funeral,' he said, and he meant it. There was a pause, before he continued. 'If you're wondering why I passed the offer onto you-'

'I couldn't care less,' the other cut him off roughly, the ashes falling through his fingers as the remains were crushed under a heel, before turning to walk off.

'Hold it Minamoto.'

He stopped. 'What?' he snapped.

The other reached into his jacket pocket again and withdrew a picture, before tossing it to the other.

'Don't get caught.'

Why bother? They were all stuck in fate's net after all.

'Whatever.'

* * *

'Stop! You-'

He half turned, piercing the one who hailed him with a disinterested glare before turning away.

He could hear the footsteps stumbling after him so he paused. No sense wasting meaningless time running away.

He harrumphed. He wasn't running away from anything. All roads ended at the same, so he took it to a leisurely pace. It didn't matter what was done because the same thing happened at the end. So he might as well be comfortable, or he should try and change things as well he could.

Being the Messiah; that was a laughable concept. Angel-like? No. Black hair fluttered through his vision before the soft wind blew it away in a gentle caress that could sooner turn into a harsh slap, revealing the set blue orbs that would be described as mosaic glass before being seen as human eyes.

A woman's nails dug into his skin as she clung almost desperately to him.

'You!' she shrieked, clinging tight. 'What did you do to him?'

He shrugged her off easily. 'Nothing he didn't deserve,' he said coldly. 'He cheated someone, so he payed the price for it.'

The sudden faltering of her grip and the ensuring gasp told him she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Still, she tried to put on a brave front. Foolishness.

'I-I'll report you,' she declared.

He half-turned to her. 'For what?' he asked, seizing the wrist that had grabbed him before pinning her easily against the wall.

'I'll scream.' But her voice was faltering.

'You attacked me,' the other pointed out in a monotone. Past the scars on his right hands, both could see the nail imprints. 'No matter what you say, you'll never hold me.'

He released her, letting her collapse against the wall.

'He'll wake up soon enough. Don't you want to be at his bedside when he does?'

She glared, but it quailed under the truthful jibe hidden under the innocent words, but she didn't move until the other vanished from sight.

Even as he left, she considered the situation. But he was right she realised. Anything she could say to any figure of authority would dig them into a grave far deeper than it would him. Already, all she could see was those frozen blue eyes and that raven black fluttering behind him, almost like a black winged angel…or demon…

In his pocket, the proof jingled with each step. Not of punishment; the poor guy's lumbering brains would provide enough entertainment before someone figured out exactly what had happened…if they ever did.

Sure enough, the clean-up was pretty pathetic. No wonder the world kept deteriorating, with fighters for justice so lazy and incompetent as them.

* * *

'I don't see why this doesn't became a passion for you,' a deep voice laughed, tossing a wad which the other easily caught. 'Your hand is already stained with blood.'

'My blood,' the other said. 'No-one else's.'

'I was thinking…' the former mused, tucking blonde hair behind him. 'Does that bother you?'

'No.'

'Hmm…how would you like to be our executioner then?'

The blue eyes regarded him unequivocally. 'For what?'

'Whatever you want. You name the price.'

It was truly a generous offer, provided one could be held to that word.

'What are you?' came the rhetorical question. 'Some God trying to straighten out this hell-hole of a world.'

'Somewhat,' the other said. 'Truth be told, I'm just the mouth-piece. _A_ mouth-piece really.' There was a pause, then a smirk. 'Lucifer-_sama_.'

'Excuse me?' The seventeen year old actually managed to sound vaguely surprised, however if one was not familiar with such a tone, it would get lose in the underlining monotonous drone.

The mouthpiece smirked.

_'Mary Immaculate, Star of the Morning,  
Chosen before the creation began,  
Destined to bring, through the Light of your Dawning,  
Conquest of Satan, and rescue to Man.'_

The other turned away. 'I'll think about it.'

'Don't think too long,' the mouthpiece advised. 'It's a be-killed do-kill world.'

He turned back. 'Is that a threat?'

'A simple stated fact.' There was a pause. 'Face it. You can't stop a world in its tracks. But you can slowly unpick it at the seams and resow.'

Behind the pair, the wind howled.


End file.
